


Vassal

by blotsandcreases



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Pre-Canon, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-19 03:57:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8188739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blotsandcreases/pseuds/blotsandcreases
Summary: “Lord Tywin Lannister is our liege lord,” Father had said, after a long list of things that Melara ought to remember. “We serve our liege lord and his family to the best of our abilities, and they govern and protect. Sometimes, even reward us. Take care that you never give them cause to punish us."





	

Melara was used to people thinking that she was quite slow. She never understood why they thought of her like that, though.

 

Mother and the steward had once caught her leaping from one branch of an apple tree to another during a gusty afternoon.

 

“I don’t want you to display such reckless behaviour again,” Mother had scolded, her dark eyes narrowed. “You could’ve fallen. You could’ve broken your neck.”

 

Melara had lowered her eyes to her windblown kite. She had just been rescuing her kite. So she had climbed the tree, saw a really plump and pretty apple, and since her kite was securely tangled amongst the branches, she would’ve been safe if she just held on to the rope.

 

The steward had attempted to placate Mother. "Little Melara is quite bold."

 

Her old septa from home had once reported to Father how Melara had answered that she would like to have a pair of black shoes when asked if she would rather wear blue shoes or red shoes with her new dress. Melara had thought it made sense, having black shoes, because she wouldn’t be too bothered if they got filthy and she could wear black with any of her dresses. Melara had heard the maester say that black is an absence of colour, so wearing black shoes with all of her dresses would give the black shoes some colour.

 

Melara had told Father as much.

 

Father was the only one who always asked her to explain herself, and he was incredibly patient. So he had just smiled at Melara and stroked his beard in thought. Melara had watched him. Father’s beard was chestnut with a deep gleam of red, like Melara’s hair, like the wine that Father sometimes drank.

 

Then one day, Father had given Melara a pair of black shoes and told her that she was to be sent as ward to Casterly Rock.

 

“Lord Tywin Lannister is our liege lord,” Father had said, after a long list of things that Melara ought to remember. “We serve our liege lord and his family to the best of our abilities, and they govern and protect. Sometimes, even reward us. Take care that you never give them cause to punish us. Do you understand, sweetling?”

 

Melara had understood. Father had never been wrong before. Besides, Father was a knight. Ser Tybolt Hetherspoon was a knight, and knights were not only brave but true to their word.

 

Mother’s embrace had smelled of cinnamon and had been warm. “Always be sharp,” she had told Melara. Then she had plucked a silver trinket with purple laces from the twists of her black hair and secured it in Melara’s hair. “It’s a small knife. For fruits and flowers and foul men.”

 

Melara’s lips had twitched into a smile. Mother was as good as any knight. Larra from Lemonwood was a skilled Dornish horsewoman, and she often rolled her eyes at the attitudes outside of Dorne regarding knighthood.

 

Father had laughed, kissed Mother on the cheek, and bid Melara goodbye. Even the servants had seen her off, waving goodbye to Ser Tybolt’s only child. Melara had waved until their little keep was nothing more than a coal-like lump amongst the mists.

 

A year had passed since Melara was taken as ward and she had kept true to her word. She served House Lannister to the best of her abilities. She comported herself properly. Melara was true to her word because she was a knight’s daughter.

 

Melara’s service mostly included being a bedmate and companion to her lord’s daughter, Cersei.

 

Cersei was a year younger than Melara and spent a lot of time with her twin Jaime as if to make up for the fact that their bedchambers were on opposite ends of a long corridor. She almost never needed Melara to play with her, except when Jaime attended his lessons.

 

Jaime’s lessons took longer than Cersei and Melara’s lessons. Jaime had to read a lot of books and had to practise with the master-at-arms whilst Cersei and Melara had to practise their stitches and learn numbers so that they could manage their future husbands’ households.

 

Cersei’s stitches were very good whilst Melara’s were adequate. Cersei had a good head for numbers, but Melara was quicker with numbers.

 

“How do you do that?” Cersei demanded one afternoon. Their lessons had long been finished, and they were sat across the door to where Jaime was still learning with the maester.

 

“Do what?” Melara said before nibbling on her lemon cake.

 

Lemon cakes were terribly fashionable, and Casterly Rock had them twice a month. Mother had told Melara that lemons were common enough in Dorne but expensive in the Westerlands. From what Melara had seen of Casterly Rock the Lannisters could afford to have lemon cakes every week but Lord Lannister was apparently, according to the maids and other household people, prudent with gold.

 

Melara was not sure about Lord Lannister, though, since she had only seen him for a short time when he had visited from King’s Landing a few moons ago. He was a stern-looking man, Melara remembered, with none of the constant warmth of Father’s face, but Lord Lannister had looked at Lady Lannister like she had hung every lemon in Westeros. And when Lady Lannister had announced that she was with child, the warmth which had rippled on Lord Lannister’s face reminded Melara of the red-gold Sunset Sea in the quiet hour before dinner.

 

Melara was sure about Lady Lannister. In her short time here, Melara sometimes forgot about Lord Lannister since everyone answered to Lady Lannister. Even Lord Lannister himself, it seemed, from what Melara had seen during the small announcement dinner. He had been always angled towards Lady Lannister and had been very attentive whenever she talked, as if she were a maester and he were Jaime trying to remember everything that was said.

 

“Do sums so fast!” Cersei said. “How do you do that?”

 

Melara chewed thoughtfully, careful with what to say.

 

“I don’t know,” she said at last. “I just do. But it’s just because I’m older so I do it faster than you do.”

 

“But you said that last year,” Cersei grumbled. “Last year my lady mother said you were _exceptionally brilliant with numbers_ , and she still hasn't said that to me this year.”

 

“There are a lot of days left for this year,” Melara pointed out. “Besides, aren’t you better than Jaime with numbers?”

 

“That’s true.” Cersei started to brighten, so that it started to look like the glow from her golden head was also seeping from her face, but then her face fell again. “But I’m older than Jaime.”

 

“Only by a little. You’re the same age so it doesn’t count. You and I aren’t the same age,” Melara assured Cersei, and added, “Your lemon cake won’t be fresh for long.”

 

Cersei picked up a lemon cake from the pale pink plate. She tapped off the crumbs against the thin golden band on the edge of the plate, and brooded.

 

Cersei could be such a baby sometimes, but she was the lord’s daughter just like Melara was a knight’s. Melara had to be patient with Cersei and Cersei would protect her.

 

Melara found that bit dubious, though. How could Cersei protect her, she wondered as she remembered that one night when she had only been a ward for barely half a year.

 

Until then Cersei had mostly ignored Melara, and had called Melara slow after Cersei had boasted that she and Jaime had played with the old lions and what did Melara think of lions? Did Melara know that Lannisters were lions? Did Melara know how fearsome lions were? Did Melara know the lions could tear a man apart?

 

Melara knew all of that, but she thought that if enough men worked together surely they could kill even the most fearsome lion just like Mother and her group of friends in Lemonwood had done. But Melara couldn’t say that because she had to be sharp, like Mother had said, so she had taken too long to answer and Cersei had called her slow.

 

But then that one night, Melara had been roused by Cersei’s furtive shuffling from the bed. Casterly Rock had still been too strange to Melara so her slumbers had been light.

 

“Where are you going?” Melara had asked, rubbing her eyes.

 

“Hush,” Cersei had said.

 

“Where are you going?”

 

“I need light. It’s after midnight, I know it, and the corridor would be too dim.”

 

“But where are you going?”

 

“To Jaime. Jaime used to sleep on your pillow, you know.”

 

Melara had watched Cersei sneak out of the door and return three heartbeats later.

 

“The guard’s asleep,” Cersei had whispered, worrying the hem of her nightclothes. “It’s too dark out.”

 

There was a lamp burning low on the cedar table in Cersei’s bedchamber. But bringing the lamp would make it easy for anyone to see Cersei.

 

“Which one is Jaime’s bedchamber?” Melara had asked.

 

“The last one.”

 

Melara had slipped off from the blankets, stooped down to retrieve her silver hair trinket from her chest of clothes, and told Cersei, “I’ll come with you.”

 

Cersei’s eyes had been wide in the faint moonlight. “It’s too dark,” she had repeated.

 

“It is dark,” Melara had agreed. “Leave your slippers. You can hold on to me.”

 

The sconces had almost burned to nothingness. The corridor’s tapestry had been rough against Melara’s groping hand and the floor had been cold even with socks and Cersei had gripped too tight on Melara’s arm. Melara had thought she heard Cersei’s faint whisper of “I am a lion.” Melara wasn’t a lion but she had a silver knife, and her father was a knight, and her mother a knight in all but name.

 

The morning after that, Cersei had told Melara that Melara was bold.

 

Cersei had quickly followed it with a hushed, “Thank gods we didn’t get caught. Mother would’ve punished us.”

 

Melara picked up another lemon cake and left the last one to Cersei. Cersei was still eating her first cake. Cersei ate carefully, first biting on the right corner then the left and lastly the centre. It was always like that, with any other cake, Melara noticed.

 

The door across the corridor burst open and Jaime came rushing towards them with a huge smile for Cersei. They looked very much alike. They looked the same, except that Jaime wore tunic and breeches and Cersei wore a dress.

 

“I am finished for the day,” Jaime announced, like he always did. “It was very boring. I had to study five pages for nearly two hours. Then I had to write a letter to Father. I’m hungry.”

 

Cersei nudged the last lemon cake towards him. “Do you want to play merfolk and pirates?”

 

Jaime nodded happily. “Shall we draw stones?”

 

“I’ll be the pirate,” Cersei said, standing. “We’ll see you later, Melara.”

 

Jaime grabbed the lemon cake and followed Cersei, calling over his shoulder, “Goodbye, Melara.”

 

Melara watched them go. Jaime was already laughing at something Cersei was saying. He was quick to laugh, and Melara once heard Lynora Hill say that his lord grandfather had been called the Laughing Lion.

 

Jaime could protect Melara as well, even if he laughed whilst doing so. One day Jaime would be Melara’s liege lord but first he was to be a knight. He often trained with the master-at-arms before playing with the pups in the kennels and with Cersei. He spent a lot of time with Cersei, so Melara had to spend half her time with Lady Lannister.

 

Melara found herself in Lady Lannister’s apartments now, after disposing the becrumbed pale pink plate in the kitchens.

 

There were maids bustling about, changing the curtains, tending to the fire, and strewing fresh rushes on the floor. Lynora Hill, one of Lady Lannister’s ladies and a baseborn half-sister, was pouring milk from a newly warmed pan into a cup.

 

Melara offered to tend to Lady Lannister’s flowers.

 

“My thanks, Melara.” Lady Lannister was peering up from her open books and papers with a faint smile. Her eyes were as sharp as Cersei’s but there was Jaime tucked in the curve of her smile. When she accepted the cup from Lynora Hill, Melara saw that Lady Lannister’s fingers had more ink stains than rings.

 

“You are a sweet girl,” Lady Lannister continued. “Have you not found a book of interest in the library today?”

 

“None for today, my lady,” Melara admitted. Cersei had wanted her hair to be plaited in a very particular style she favoured.

 

“Our septon tells me that you are one of the most frequent visitors.”

 

Melara hoped she was not blushing. She hoped that if she were, her freckles would disguise it. Melara tied a bunch of orchids with a red ribbon. “I love reading, my lady.”

 

Lynora Hill chuckled. She was as tall and golden as Lady Lannister and Lord Lannister, being a half-sister to Lady Lannister and first cousin to Lord Lannister. But Lady Lannister was round and her curls were the colour of beaten gold and tucked into a plait whilst Lynora Hill was sharp and almost leonine, even her mane of molten gold hair. Lynora Hill might not share the Lannister name but she shared Lannister blood.

 

“Our septon says that Ser Tybolt’s daughter would be on her way to the Citadel had she been a son,” Lynora Hill said.

 

“Cersei sometimes says the same,” Melara offered. She figured that since Lord Lannister was at King’s Landing and Lady Lannister was the one answering letters and reports from the bannermen, Melara might as well do her duty and report to her lady. Everyone answered to Lady Lannister. Before she was pregnant Lady Lannister used to dispense the king’s justice and had tongues pulled out and fingers cut off and men gelded. She could very well be the liege lord, in Melara’s eyes.

 

Lady Lannister’s brows lifted. “My daughter wishes to be a maester?”

 

“No, my lady,” Melara said, and shuffled some daisies so that she could be careful with her words. “She says that if she were born a boy she would be the heir to the Rock. Because she’s older than Jaime.”

 

That would be funny, Melara thought. Cersei as Lord Lannister and Melara as maester. Melara rather fancied being Grand Maester if she were to be a boy who would be a maester. She wondered why the Citadel only allowed boys to be maesters. But mostly, she thought of how she would be a knight like Father if she had been born a boy. Mother could very well be a knight, but she was not called Ser. Everyone knew Father was a knight even if all they had seen of him was his name.

 

Lady Lannister stroked her gently swollen belly and thoughtfully sipped at her cup.

 

“My daughter has such _queenly_ notions,” Lady Lannister said at last, with a sidelong smile at her ink pot.

 

Melara glanced at the inkpot. It looked like an inkpot, an expensive inkpot, filled with ink which often stained Lady Lannister’s fingers.

 

Lynora Hill’s lips twitched as if she had a shared secret with Lady Lannister and the inkpot, and looked up sharply to see if the door to the outer room with the maids was indeed shut tight.

 

Melara pretended to be fascinated by the red roses.

 

*

 

Early the next morning after breakfast Melara was sat by an alcove, reading a book and waiting for Cersei so that they could walk together to their sewing lesson with Septa Saranella.

 

Melara had just reached the part during the Andal invasions where a Stark king from the North, Theon the Hungry Wolf, had defeated Argos Sevenstar and then proceeded to sail for Andalos with Argos’ body displayed on the prow of the ship like a mangled and bloody figurehead.

 

Melara shuddered. Mother used to say that the songs tell of how it is possible to slay a dragon, how dragons could be driven to extinction, or near enough, so that the surviving ones searched for another home. Of how the existence of a dragon was proof of the sheer possibility to overcome the odds. But wolves, even direwolves, the songs only told of how wolves were always present. Dragons were made to be overcome, Mother used to say, but wolves were made to be survived from. Wolves were just _there_ , insidious and bloodthirsty shadows that were always lurking in the woods -

 

The sudden sound of footsteps startled Melara.

 

Melara tried to disguise it by snapping her book shut a bit enthusiastically. “Are you ready?” she asked Cersei.

 

Cersei nodded and fidgeted with her green dress.

 

Cersei fidgeted with her dress throughout their walk, and her stitches were crooked during their lesson. Even her numbers were only satisfactory so that Lady Lannister asked her if she had had enough breakfast.

 

“I’m just hungry, Mother,” Cersei said.

 

“Your dress is nice,” Melara said as they carried their little plates of applecakes and berry tarts to Cersei’s rooms. “It goes well with your eyes.”

 

Cersei just sighed and toed off her shoes and stockings as soon as they closed the door behind them.

 

Melara slowly sat by the cedar table, staring at Cersei polishing off an applecake in two bites. Then she glanced at Cersei’s bare feet.

 

This wasn’t Cersei.

 

Melara picked up a berry tart. “Would you like me to plait your hair after we eat?”

 

Jaime looked at her, and reached for his cup of ale. “Oh, of course.”

 

“Which style would you like?”

 

“Oh, I like all kinds of braids,” Jaime said, “but I’ll let you decide today’s hair.”

 

Melara wanted to laugh. Cersei only liked one style, the one with lots of twists which made her a bit taller. How could Lady Lannister and all their teachers not tell Cersei and Jaime apart?

 

After eating Melara wielded a hair brush and a comb and began dressing Jaime's hair the way Cersei liked her hair to be dressed. Melara would rather not tell the secret to Lady Lannister since she had no proof. Besides it was better that Melara didn’t know anything about this. She must not give them cause to punish her. And this seemed like a lark, and a really funny one.

 

“Do you like apples, Cersei?” Melara asked, busily combing a lock of hair.

 

“I like them enough,” Jaime said. He was playing with the brush, swift and deft with his hands.

 

“How about kites?”

 

“I like kites. Kites sound great.”

 

“I often play with kites back home,” Melara said. “Being a human kite is great as well.”

 

Jaime turned his head to look strangely at her, and Melara had to grip the locks of hair she was arranging.

 

“Sit still, please,” Melara said.

 

“Human kite?”

 

“Well,” Melara comfortably chattered, “you like apples and kites. What if your kite got stuck on an apple tree and in the middle of climbing the tree you saw a really pretty and plump apple on another branch? I swung from one branch to the next to get them both. I was like a kite, flying.”

 

“I like the sound of that,” Jaime said approvingly. Melara wondered if he was speaking as Cersei or as himself. Cersei once said that she had dared to touch the lion of their lord grandfather before Jaime had pulled her back from the cage. “So you like jumping off things and flying. But why are you always reading? You really are strange,” he said.

 

“I like reading. Besides, I am my father’s current heir and only child so I have to know a lot. I won't be eight forever.”

 

Jaime said, “Jaime is my lord father’s heir.”

 

“He must be anxious to know a lot, as well. Jaime must read a lot,” Melara said, smiling at the plaits she was twisting.

 

“Not really,” Jaime muttered. “You’re an only child so it must be a really heavy weight on you. My lady mother says I might soon have a brother.”

 

*

 

Cersei and Jaime continued their little game of switching places, and Melara continued her little game of pretending not to know.

 

Cersei was always happier after a day spent as Jaime so she would offer to braid Melara’s hair in the evenings. But during the next two days Cersei would get moodier and mumble that Jaime was very lucky. Melara would blink slowly and stay quiet.

 

And then one day Cersei tumbled into her bedchamber to glowingly tell Melara that Lord Lannister had praised Cersei’s reading and writing. Lord Lannister had come home earlier that week to await Lady Lannister’s labour, and clearly he also couldn’t tell Cersei and Jaime apart.

 

Melara celebrated with Cersei by brushing Cersei’s hair and pretending that she didn’t know that Cersei had just sat in Jaime’s lessons as Jaime.

 

“Would you like a sister or a brother?” Melara asked.

 

“Mother says she’s having a baby son. And Mother is always right.” Cersei scratched at her elbow but otherwise kept still.

 

“I love my lady,” Melara agreed.

 

“I wish to be like my lady mother,” Cersei said. She sounded happy. “Father and the bannermen and the whole of Casterly Rock listen to her and obey her. She is like a lord in her own right.”

 

Melara had other thoughts about that so she just hummed. “I think I’d rather –” she began, before a shrill bell rang outside.

 

It took both Melara and Cersei a frozen moment, as the sound of several feet and banging doors echoed down to them, to realise that it was Lynora Hill’s bell screaming that Lady Lannister had just begun labour.

 

Cersei abruptly stood up. “I should go.”

 

“Go,” Melara said.

 

“Jaime is still in riding lessons." Cersei bit her lip and clenched her fists. "And Father may not want us there. We might get in the way.”

 

“My lord has not ordered you to stay away,” Melara said. She was nervous and excited inside, though. A baby son. He would be heir after Jaime. He might, though gods be good, be Melara’s future liege lord.

 

“I’ll go with you,” Melara told Cersei, and held out her hand.

 

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes I’m tired enough to be unable to do things I should be doing but not sleepy enough to do…questionable things, like this one. Like what even is this.
> 
> Edit: If you wish to read more Melara (like me!) [Well](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8418670) shares the same pre-AGOT headcanon as this fic.
> 
> When not scrambling for coursework deadlines or daydreaming about fics I'm short on time to write, I'm over at blotsandcreases.tumblr.com sighing happily at all the great things. :)


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